For Thunderstorms We Have
by angelforshow
Summary: Drabble dump! Basically where every little drabble that doesn't have a home goes to.
1. 001

**Summary:** I wish I could go back in time.  
**From:** -bell.esque  
**Prompt:** waves, bells, "Sometimes I like to walk the wrong way so the wind flows in my hair."  
**Word Count:** 230.

-&-

**For Thunderstorms We Have**  
by: ANGELforSHOW

01.

-&-

The beach is empty.

Sakura stands at the edge of the Wave Country, feet skimming the water.  
Her body is tired, her hair is tangled, heavy.  
She forever smells blood in the air.

The last time she was here, things had been whole.  
Kakashi was her sensei, Naruto was by her side.  
Sasuke was still in Leaf.

The tide is rising.  
Dark blue fringed with white curls over sandaled toes.  
The waves are coming in higher, faster.

Behind her, Wave is in chaos.  
Smoke lingers in the ocean air.  
Death bells are rung for every lost life.

War has begun again.  
War has made Sakura jaded.  
Sixteen and already weary – it used to be such an abstract thought.

Ino touches down onto the soft sand beside her.  
Ino is tired too. Tired of war, tired of death.  
We have to go, she tells her. We have to clean up.

Wind sweeps through the beach.  
The breeze comes from the West.  
The West where Konoha is.

Sakura nods at Ino.  
She turns and walks towards the West.  
Towards Leaf, away from Wave.

Ino sighs in protest. Where are you going?  
Sakura won't tell her that she's trying to go back in time.  
Instead, she shrugs and lifts the corners of her lips into a smile.

_Sometimes I like to walk the wrong way so the wind flows in my hair._

* * *

This is new, this is not how I usually write, and this is not replacing Like VitaminWater.

To make a request, suggest a prompt in a review. Please review.


	2. 002

**Summary:** You're not supposed to blush when the photographer says you're beautiful.  
**From:** Diaph Annie.  
**Prompt:** KibaSaku.  
**Word Count:** 847.

x.

**For Thunderstorms We Have**  
by: ANGELforSHOW

02.

x.

Sakura is a professional.

She tells this to herself while she rearranges her legs, draping them gracefully over an artfully placed block in front of the green screen, her back against the floor.

Sasuke taps his clipboard impatiently from the sidelines, telling his model to look more fierce, more innocent, to stretch out her fingers just so – he doesn't want to look at her, he just wants to see perfection in the picture.

The computer shows that Sakura's pictures aren't perfect. Sasuke crosses his arms over his chest, listing off problems. Her hair is too flat on one side, her expression isn't quite there, is her eyeshadow too dark on the right eye?

Sakura sits up, annoyed, as she listens to Sasuke complain about something in every frame. Her face, her dress, her hands, legs, neck. She can't complain about Sasuke, but she wishes she could. But he's the best manager there is, so in the end, it's justifiable, right?

The photographer mumbles something behind his camera, something that makes Sasuke command her to sit on the block and just, please, try to look pretty.

She's not a dumb model, she's a professional, Sakura tells herself, scowling as she pulls her lithe body off the floor and onto the block.

Sasuke tells her to get the sour look off her face before it spoils the film.

The fan whirs on, and Sakura's hair is blown back. The hairspray doesn't hold well enough, and neither does the intricate hairstyle Ino had painstakingly worked to create for the shoot. Carnation curls are shot back into the artificial wind, and the airwaves make Sakura's eyes water, so her eyes shine and the pink waterlines beneath the green irises become visible again.

She waits for Sasuke to start yelling, to have his little heart attack and then tell her to go through hair and makeup all over again. Sasuke's face tightens and he clenches his teeth.

Stop.

The photographer looks out from behind his camera for the first time. Don't move your model, he says to Sasuke. She's perfect, she's beautiful, it's wonderful.

The photographer takes a few shots, standing up straight next to Sasuke as he looks over to pictures appearing on the computer screen. He ruffles his unruly brown spikes, smiling with white teeth.

Just look at these, Kiba says, waving a tan hand towards the computer. How can you complain about them? he asks.

On the iMac screen are three shots of Sakura. Her hair is down, loose, blown back like petals in the wind. Her eyes are wide, bright, doe-like, white and green shining through layers of plum and black surrounding them. She looks surprised, innocent, and _beautiful_.

Sasuke doesn't say anything. His silence makes Sakura uncomfortable. She fidgets in her seat, squirms in her dress.

It is perfect, Sasuke amends. You're done for today, Sakura. He dismisses her coldly, waving her away while he studies the frames on the monitor. It's perfection in a picture.

Sakura sighs as she untangles the large dress from around her knees and hoists the skirt above her ankles.

Hey, hey!

She turns around, and Kiba is grinning a little at her, his left hand playing with his feathery chocolate locks again. You did really well, he says to her. You're really beautiful, y'know that?

Under the layers of makeup, Sakura flushes pink.

She's a professional. She's not supposed to blush when the photographer of all people tells her that. All photographers say that, because they're all professionals in the modeling world.

She thanks him, smiles a little, shakes his hand with two firm shakes – it's a professional handshake, not an acquaintance handshake – and then excuses herself to leave. The dress is a little itchy, the bodice is a little too tight, and for God's sake, she wants to get the crap off her face right now.

Sakura smiles to herself as she walks back to hair and makeup. She handled that well, she thinks. She waits patiently as her makeup is taken off, layer by layer, and she neatly rearranges the curls around her face.

Half an hour later, Sakura is grabbing her purse, digging for her keys, and clutching a Blackberry in one hand, walking towards the exit.

Hey, hey!

She turns around, and Kiba is grinning a little at her again, his left hand still running through his hair, fixing and spiking brown tresses.

Um, hey, Sakura says, Is there something wrong with the pictures? Do I have to go back?

Kiba shakes his head, Nah, the pictures were perfect. I just…yeah. You're really beautiful, y'know that?

Underneath one coat of mineral powder, Sakura blushes again. You don't need to say that. I'm not a model right now, I'm just Sakura.

And I'm not a photographer right now, Kiba says, I'm just Kiba.

Sakura smiles a little, the right side of her mouth tilting up a little more than her right, a dimple barely starting to show.

So…do you want to go for coffee?

Coffee sounds professional, even if she's off duty right now.

Sure.

* * *

Originally, the prompt had "catwalk" in it too, but I thought a photoshoot would work better. Sorry Annie, this probably isn't what you expected.

Oh, and I might not do the prompts given to me in order.


	3. 003

pairing: konanshika  
prompt: "Are you trying to seduce me Mrs. __?" , "lavender" and "atonement"  
prompter: ohwhatsherface in a bootcamp on MSN

I wrote this about a year ago.

* * *

It was a general Law of the Universe that Shikamaru could sleep in class as long as he got 100s on all of his tests. In exchange for fabulous marks that made his teachers look good, Shikamaru got to nap _all freakin' day_.

Naturally Shikamaru figured that the same Rule of Life would apply to ceramics class. In exchange for passing all the tests, he could nap. The first two days of the class he had stayed awake to be polite (Konan-sensei was going over grading policy, so it wasn't like she even noticed when he began to doze off during the middle of her (very boring) introduction).

But they were starting actual art today, so when Naruto began throwing clay around and that strange Deidara student-teacher-dude started screaming about art being a bang, Shikamaru decided to lean against the window and begin his fourth period nap. It was rather nice—the kiln was humming to his right, the windowpane was warm from sunlight, Naruto was being sent out to the office, and—

"Shikamaru, are you seriously sleeping in my _ceramics_ class? Detention."

Um, what?

-

It was 3:00 PM, and instead of driving himself home, Shikamaru was now walking (very slowly) towards his 4th period classroom.

Hands in his pockets, Shikamaru dragged himself and his too-heavy bookbag inside of the art room and sat down. Konan-sensei wasn't there yet, but he figured he would be out of detention very soon. After all, he just had to explain the Code of the World to her, and then he'd be home free.

Lazily, he unzipped his bookbag and peered in to find _Atonement_. He dimly remembered being told to read it for English. Might as well read the first few pages before going home to Sparknote it.

"Put the book away, Shikamaru. This is detention, not free period."

Konan strode into her classroom with a boxful of paints and set them down on the counter. She brushed a few strands of dark hair out of her face before washing her hands in the sink, scrubbing at paint stains on her skin. "You do know why you're here, yes?" she asked him, eyeing him with heavily eyeshadowed eyes.

Weren't teachers supposed to refrain from wearing hooker makeup? Shikamaru wondered vaguely to himself. "Um, no, not really, ma'am," his mouth said.

"You fell asleep in class today," Konan informed him. "Not a very good start to the semester, is it?" She walked over to her desk—what the hell, was that a hip-sway?—and sat down on her desk chair, idly picking up a piece of paper and beginning to fold it.

"No, I don't suppose it's a good start," Shikamaru agreed, "but you must have heard of the Rule, right sensei?" He leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head.

Konan shot him a look. "Enlighten me," she drawled sarcastically. "I'd love to learn all about this Rule."

Ignoring the sarcasm, Shikamaru shot her a look right back at her and her whorishly shadowed eyelids. "The Rule is that I'm allowed to sleep in class as long as I get 100s on my tests," he told her. He stood up, "So, now that that's cleared up, I'll—"

"Not so fast," Konan cut him off. "The "tests" in ceramics are completed projects," she told Shikamaru while folding the sheet of paper in her hands without looking. "So unless you have a kiln and clay and glaze at home to use, I don't think you'll be getting 100s if you sleep in my class." She did a few more folds and tugged at the edges of her folded paper. "Pretty, yes?"

She held out a completed paper flower to show Shikamaru before putting it in her hair.

"Oh yes, very pretty," Shikamaru offered. "It's, uh, a lavender, right?"

Konan rolled her eyes. "For someone who claims to be so smart that was an appallingly stupid answer. A lavender plant has a bunch of skinny stems with cluster-like blossoms. This is just a rose."

"Oh, right." He shrugged. It was _paper_, it was kind of difficult to tell.

Konan sighed and walked over to Shikamaru, sitting on the table he was seated at. "So you're going to stay awake from now on, right?" she asked, glancing down at him through her skanky-thick eyelashes.

If Shikamaru had one ounce of not-lazy in him, he would've laughed. "Um, no," he told his teacher frankly. "Can't you just give me a written test?"

"Um, no," Konan said, mocking her student. "Come on, Shikamaru, I can't compromise an actual ceramics project with a written test," she said leaning in closer to him. She batted—what the _fuck_—her skanky-lashes. "That'd make me a bad teacher, you see…"

Shikamaru gave his teacher another Look. "Are you trying to seduce me _Mrs_."—he glanced at the diamond ring on her left hand pointedly—"Pein?"

Konan sat up straighter and crossed her arms across her chest. "Of course not," she said, crossing her legs as well. She was wearing black stilettos. And they were not sensible teacher heels. "What would make you suggest such a—"

Shikamaru sighed. "Because if you were, I suppose it would be possible to work something out, since…"

She was batting those damned skanky-lashes again.

* * *

Yeah, I don't even know. Let's just blame Pina.


End file.
